


Worship

by ToWhomItMayConcern



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Language, Light Smut, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToWhomItMayConcern/pseuds/ToWhomItMayConcern
Summary: Din gives you a small taste of his unspoken worship.
Relationships: The Mandalorian/Gender Neutral Reader, The Mandalorian/Reader, The Mandalorian/You
Kudos: 87





	Worship

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first gender neutral smut fic so if there's any mistakes please let me know! I've been trying to get better at writing them and I'm happy this was a request sent in. 
> 
> Tumblr: @mcfreakin-bxtch

You know the drill. 

Keep your eyes closed until the makeshift blindfold is wrapped tightly but comfortably around your head and the rest… well, you know. Easy enough. 

How many times have you done this? More than _dozens_ of times and it’s still making your heart race against your chest, body trembling with anticipation; waiting for his next move, only relying on the sounds of the beskar scraping softly against the ground as he kneels down in between your open legs—touch, when bare hands run up the slopes of your body, gripping tender flesh when you whine, arching into his touch, begging for _more_ , always more. Taste, when those skillful fingers press against the seam of your lips, tracing the outline of them with a _curious_ gentleness and you flick your tongue out for a quick little lick; it’s fun to tease him. 

Din groans and the breath that escapes with it brushes between your legs, sending a delightful shiver through you. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the sound of his chuckle; unfiltered, the only time you get to experience the luxury of hearing it, and that’s okay with you—these moments are _yours_ , and no one can take that away from either one of you. 

“Tell me what you want,” he orders, just above a whisper. “Let me hear you say it.”

This is important to him. To be able to hear your voice, whether it’s screaming his name until your throat becomes scratched, or whimpering it breathlessly in his ear as he’s thrusting deep inside you or when you’re telling a story in the confines of the cramped bunk he calls his ‘sleeping quarters’. It’s _everything_ to hear any of it without the filter of the helmet he’d sworn to never remove in the presence of another—there’s always a loophole, one that he has no problems taking with you. 

You feel him shift and suddenly his lips are slanted onto yours; immediately your mouth opens and welcomes the tangle of spit and tongue, and he explores your taste like it’s the most exquisite. You wrap your arms around his shoulders to bring him closer, humming when he complies.

He’s the first to break from the kiss, laughing when you blindly chase after his pouted lips. “Tell me,” he says again, sharing your breath. 

“Your mouth,” you manage to gasp. “I want your mouth on me, _please_.” 

“ _That’s_ it,” you hear the grin in his voice. A peck, too quick to your liking but his hands grip under you, slanting your hips against his and grinds against you. You whimper and clutch a handful of his curls to bring him down for another kiss. This time you keep him here, moving up as he moves down, creating a delectable friction that makes the nerves in your body sing with euphoria. 

Again, he breaks the kiss and moves down before you can protest. “I’m going to give you want you want, cyar'ika.”

You try to control your breathing when his hands slide slowly down and his mouth hovers over where you ache for him the most. Your hips fidget under restraint, waiting for him to make the first move but kriff it’s so difficult when he’s right _there—_

“ _Oh!_ ”

The first touch and you’re a _goner_. Followed by the searing cavern of his mouth? _Blazing_. 

The Mandalorian knows where exactly to touch you, how much pressure to use based off the increasing octaves of your moans and whimpers, when to suck and lick and use his hands… he’s gracious if not anything else; he worships you—your mind, your body, your _pleasure._

“ _Din_ ,” you bow your back, arching into him. 

Din hums on your sex, the vibrations spearing right through you. You cry out and spread your legs farther apart with the _need_ of the heat radiating off him. 

You’re close, so close already, your muscles tightening under his ministration—it’s been _too long_ since you and Din have had a moment like this to yourselves and it’s _tearing_ you apart in the best ways. “Fuck I’m close.”

He pulls away to say, “I know. _Don’t_ hold back on me.”

A shuddering gasp racks through you as he goes back down with an eagerness of a man starved, working you closer and closer to the edge of your release. 

“Shit,” you whine at one particular notion, reaching down to grip a handful of his hair. 

A few harsh tugs results in a _growl_ and you quiver, throwing your head back with a groan. “Yes, yes right there! Oh Din please don’t stop, _fuck_.”

“Are you gonna cum for me?” He taunts you, but there’s a lightness to it because he’s want you to cum just as much as you do and probably more. 

“Yes,” you sigh, legs shaking around him. “Y-yeah I’m gonna—” it’s so hard to push the words out with what little breath that hasn’t been knocked out of your lungs but then he does that thing with his _tongue,_ _Maker_ you’re—”I’m cumming Din, _fuckfuckfumh—_ ”

Your body spams as he carries you through your orgasm, swallowing everything you offer to him with deep throaty moans of his own; the action causes you to whine, squirming under him. Fuck he’s still on you. 

“Din,” you push his head back with a subtle tap. “Too much.”

He finally does to your relief. Through the white noise the only thing you register is the caresses soothing you down from your high. Then, when your head tilts down in a droopy leisure, a kiss; slow and deep, with the taste of your orgasm fresh on his tongue. 

“That—” you chuckle, out of breath; he rests his lips against your cheek. “—was _very_ much needed.”

The Mandalorian grins. “And there’s plenty more coming.”


End file.
